


Crushed

by OneLastTime



Series: Peter Parker Whump [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Whump, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 12:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneLastTime/pseuds/OneLastTime
Summary: Peter took a second to realise what was happening. The roof collapsed on him. He was getting crushed. He might, probably, die. Despite all of this, he was uncharacteristically calm. He felt disconnected from his body. And his brain. Everything, really. Maybe he was in shock. Was that how shock worked? If he ever stopped being crushed, he’d ask someone how being crushed worked. Maybe Happy would finally return his calls and tell him how being crushed worked.---A longer, whumpier version of the scene where Peter is trapped under the rubble, because god knows we like to make this boy suffer.





	Crushed

Peter took a second to realise what was happening. The roof collapsed on him. He was getting crushed. He might, probably, die. Despite all of this, he was uncharacteristically calm. He felt disconnected from his body. And his brain. Everything, really. Maybe he was in shock. Was that how shock worked? If he ever stopped being crushed, he’d ask someone how being crushed worked. Maybe Happy would finally return his calls and tell him how being crushed worked.

Well, maybe he shouldn’t ask him. What if Mr Stark wants to know why he wants to know? He doesn’t want Mr Stark to think he’s not responsible enough to handle his powers if he keeps getting crushed all the time.

He wondered if he hit his head. Everything was kind of fuzzy, and he couldn’t think too straight. Was his mask on? Maybe he should take his mask off. He might not be getting enough oxygen. But… huh. His hand wasn’t moving. That’s weird. He’s pretty sure they’re supposed to move. What about the other one? Ha, that one can move.

Was he laying down? Why could he hear weird noises? Was there someone else with him? He should help them. But first, he needed to take his mask off. He moved his arm up to reach at his mask, but his fingers weren’t gripping too well.

Try again.

There we go.

Mask off.

Good job.

Peter tried to look around, but every movement he made just made everything blurry. It felt like he’d been drugged. Did someone drug him? Was he on drugs? Aunt May would be furious if he took drugs. She’d never let him out of the house again.

But, for that to happen, he’d need to be back home again. And not… wherever he was. Was he dreaming? This felt like a dream. Maybe he needed to wake up. But how?

Peter felt his eyes slowly slide shut and he let them. His body didn’t usually move without him telling it to, but if this was a dream, that would make sense. He’d wake up soon. He’ll be back home. In just… a second.

Peter’s world faded to nothingness.

\--

Pain.

Excruciating pain.

That was the first thing Peter was aware of.

He felt his legs being stabbed, his abdomen felt like it was burning, and his ribs felt like they were about to break, if they weren’t broken already. His head ached and he couldn’t move.

Actually, his ribs were hurting more and more as he gained awareness. His chest was tight, his head felt light and heavy at the same time, and he couldn’t get any oxygen into his lungs. That was making his chest hurt more. He’d try to breathe, but would end up groaning in pain.

Hearing was the next sense Peter was aware of. He could hear wheezing, and a high-pitched whine sound coming from somewhere. Maybe it was him. As he became more aware of his surroundings, Peter’s breath came in quicker and shallower gasps, jostling his already battered body with every movement.

“Okay, Peter, c’mon, you got this,” he whispered as he exhaled. “This is okay, you’re okay, you got this… Just gotta get out, have to get out.”

Trying to stay as still as possible, Peter started to catalogue his injuries the best that he could. He started with his feet, by trying to wiggle his toes, all the while concentrating on breathing deeply enough that he got oxygen, but shallow enough that his chest didn’t move too much.

“…Okay, probably not a good sign,” he said when his right foot didn’t move.

He tried again.

Nothing.

He tried to tense his right leg, and immediately gasped. Something was definitely stabbing him in the leg. Ow. Not a good idea to move that one.

On the plus side, his left leg seemed to be fine, at least compared to the other one. It was still being crushed, and it was at an angle that wasn’t exactly reassuring, but he could move it.

Travelling further up his body, he felt something sticky on his stomach when he moved it. Did he fall in a puddle? There was a lot of water everywhere. But it felt different. Maybe it was blood. He didn’t think he got stabbed in the stomach, but his brain still wasn’t making sense of everything around it lately.

He had already established that his chest was the worst place injured, and one of his arms was trapped. From what he could see, his mobile arm didn’t seem too bad, just some scratches and cuts, and probably some bruises tomorrow.

He lifted his head slightly off the ground and winced. His lip was split, and blood was starting to pool in his mouth, and his eyes were fuzzy. The back of his head felt worse, though. He must have been hit by some of the debris.

He could hear the laboured wheezes of his breath, and panicked slightly. If there was something wrong with his insides, if he was bleeding internally, that’s not something he knew how to fix. Granted, he was a teenager in the American education system – he obviously hadn’t been taught first aid. Someone should really get on that. He’d bring it up with the principal when he got out. If he got out.

He tried to use his one functional arm to push up against the pile of rubble crushing him, but it was useless. He was getting frantic now. He needed to stop Mr Stark’s plane from being hijacked and robbed. He had to get up, now. He thought back to what Mr Stark told him about his suit, and found enough strength to free his other arm and braced them against the ground.

“Come on, Peter,” he said breathlessly. “Come on, Spiderman.”

He tried futilely to push up against the rubble once more. He made progress in the debris against his back, but the stabbing pain coursing through him made him fall back to the ground, his forehead cracking loudly against the ground as it made contact.

His vision went momentarily black and his head pounded. Even as his vision slowly came back, it was fuzzy and he felt dizzy. He wondered if he had a concussion. He didn’t really know what concussions felt like, though. He remembered reading something a long time ago about common injuries in soldiers. He was pretty sure concussions were covered.

He couldn’t really remember, though. Was it concussions that made you confused? Or was he just thinking that because things were kind of confusing right now? He didn’t know. He has a lot of research to do when he… when he does something. He was in the middle of something important, he thought, but his head hurt so badly. Surely it wouldn’t be bad if he took a second to lay down and work past the pain.

He let his head fall softly back to the ground, and turned slightly to see the reflection of the room around him in the puddle he was half-lying in. He could make out a few fuzzy shapes in the muddy water, and his mask. He doesn’t remember putting it there.

As he stares, Mr Stark’s words come back to him, when he lost the suit. That felt like a lifetime ago. He’d hate to never see Mr Stark again, if he didn’t get out. Would anyone even look for him? How long would it take before anyone realised he was missing? Surely at least Ned would try to track him, although since he wasn’t wearing the new suit, he couldn’t be tracked easily, not that he could be tracked after Ned took the tracking device out of the other suit.

Numbness was setting in. Peter’s body was content to lay there and sink into oblivion, but what small part of his rational brain was still active was screaming at him. He needed to move, to get out, to stop the Vulture, to live.

He concentrated on Mr Stark’s words, imagined he was hearing them in the moment. That gave him the fuel to give one final heave upwards, despite his protesting body. Flashes of white-hot pain were coursing through him, and he couldn’t bear to put any weight on one of his legs, which made moving more difficult.

He eventually managed to get to his knees, holding a pile of rubble of his head. He shoved it to the side and turned his attention to moving the pile on his legs. There was one jagged piece of metal sticking into his leg, but he quickly took it out and replaced it with a thick layer of web fluid. It wasn’t a perfect or long-term fix, but it would do.

His breath was coming in heaves and he was having trouble biting back screams as he moved, but he finally freed himself from the rubble.

“Alright,” he wheezed. “That was the easy part, now I have to stop a murderous lunatic from stealing all of Mr Stark’s stuff.”

He hobbled over to an exit, keeping his relatively unharmed arm against walls or particularly tall piles of debris to avoid toppling back over and having to start the process of getting up all over again. He didn’t even know how much time had passed since he first found himself under the rubble.

He just knew he needed to hurry.

Because the world needed Spiderman.

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this the day after I saw the movie, and only just got around to finishing it, so it's been in the works for a while. I fucking live for whump and hurting my favs (and angst, but that's just a general thing) -- hope you enjoyed lads, and if anyone actually missed me in the ages I was gone, love u
> 
> I'm at danieljlaytonactor.tumblr.com so don't be scared to send me 7 identical asks in a row that says nothing but the word peach.


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